Half-Death and Afterlife
by A.K. Haddock
Summary: An grizzled Orc and a young girl have a talk in the Whiterun marketplace. The girl isn't everything she seems...


The marketplace was crowded. The cold air bit at any exposed flesh, forcing all to bundle up to stave off the icy Skyrim wind. People jostled to and fro, moving between stalls, filling almost all the space in the small marketplace. In the open space sat a scarred orc, clad only in a fur kilt and boots, sharpening an immense battleaxe. None would meet his eyes, nor even look in his direction, save one small girl. She stood stock still and stared through the crowd, blind to all but the grizzled Orismer.

After some time, the girl slowly moved forward into the empty circle of space around the Orc that the crowd refused to fill.

"Why don't they come near you?"

The orc slowed his work, eventually resting the whetstone on his thigh, and turned to the girl.

Clearing his throat, the orc peered intently at the girl for a moment before grinding his rusty vocal cords into motion.

"They fear me, fear what I've done."

The girl looked him over carefully, taking in his many scars. A beard covered the majority of his face, wild and uncombed. Long shaggy hair was pulled back into a rough pony tail, a thing of necessity, not fashion. His chest was vast and muscular, covered in a layer of bristly hairs like that of a boar. His hands were calloused and rough, sporting jagged, claw-like nails. His stomach was strong, but shared more resemblance with a beast's muscles than a man's, lacking the sharp definition that most men sought. Three long and thick scars crossed from his left ribs down to his waist line on his right side, standing out like cords on his midsection. He bore scars almost everywhere, but his most distinct was a thin line that crossed through his left eye, starting on the eyebrow and ending near the cheekbone. His eye was a milky white, blinded forever.

"What did you do?"

The orc tilted his head, surprised at the girl's courage. Most children, man and mer, would have run to their mother's skirts by now. He studied the child, taking in her plain face and red dress, before his gaze landed on her eyes. He paused, processing the new information. Sinister red eyes stared back at him. Not the eyes of a child, but of a centuries old monster.

"I've killed many men. Whomever I think will emerge victorious earns my loyalty. This makes the people nervous. They know war is coming, and don't know where my loyalties will lie in the conflict. They don't even know where their own loyalties will lie."

The vampire sat down next to the orc, a contemplative look on her face. The pair sat together for some time before the girl spoke.

"Why do you fight? What made you want to be a warrior? You don't do it for the money. You choose the side that already has the advantage, so you must not earn much coin. Do you do it for the glory?"

The hulking mer sat back, resting his colossal axe on his lap. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply before responding in a tone full of bitterness and anger.

"My God has cast me out. There will be no afterlife for me. When I die, I will be no more. My soul will be torn apart and spread across the cosmos. To be anything other than a warrior is to live in a constant state of fear, of misery. When would a bandit choose to end my life over a loaf of bread? I cannot allow this uncertainty. I train, I fight, I learn so that my continued existence is a certainty, not a question. I _cannot_ allow my end to come about too early. I fear it. I fight because I fear death. No... I fear what comes _after_."

The girl nodded, understanding on her face.

"You fear _nothingness._ "

"I suppose that is a… concise way of putting it."

"What if I told you you **never** had to die?"

The mercenary shook his head, chuckling low in his throat. Soon it grew to a bone shattering laughter, drawing attention to him and the girl. But only for a moment. When his hysteria was done and he looked down, the crowd looked away, not wanting to be caught staring by the beast the Jarl insists is allowed to stay in their beloved Whiterun.

"I don't want your curse, half-dead."

The girl looked at him in shock, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. The orc cracked his neck and loosely clasped the haft of his axe.

"What you offer is not living. It would only allow for me to experience death twice. Life as a half-dead is not life at all. How can I experience the comfort of a woman when my cock is colder than High Hrothgar? How can I feel my blood run red hot in battle when it would no longer flow? How could I feel the joy of surviving another day, another battle? I would grow tired of that existence. I would rather embrace the void than live a day as one of you monsters."

The girl's eyes glowed bright with anger. She stood to her full height, insignificant as it was, arms straight and palms ready to cast the spells she knows by heart.

"I could strike you down here for your disrespect, you beast."

The enraged vampire stilled, feeling a cold tip of steel against her stomach, pointed upwards, directly at her heart.

"Think again. Don't want to end up all the way dead, do you?

The girl lowered her arms, closing her hands into tight fists. Her face changed in an instant to a simpering pout, eyes wide with fear.

"You wouldn't dare. Not in front of all these people."

The orc cocked his head, eyes searching the ancient adolescent's face.

"I hear you _things_ turn to ash when you die. I'm curious. Is that true, or just a lie used by corrupt mages to hide their murders?"

Then the fear in her eyes was real, not faked.

"You… What do you want?"

"Your name."

"What?"

"Your name, demon. I want your name."

The child's eyes widened in confusion. She moved her hand up to the crossbow, careful not to touch the silver bolt, and lowered it to point at the ground, away from her. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Babette. Why do you want it?"

The mer lifted his weapon brusquely back to where it had been on her stomach, leaning in close to her face, his voice a gravelly bass, with spittle flying from his tusks as he spoke

"Mark this, _Babette_. If we ever cross paths again, it will be the day your pitiful existence comes to an end. I have nothing but disgust for your kind, but explaining this to the guards would not be a simple task. You can go. But if I hear of any vampire killings in this area _ever_ , I will make a point of **ending you**. Now be gone from this place, vile creature."

He ended his tirade by roughly shoving her away, quickly putting his cross bow back on its strap at his side. He stood, hefted his enormous battle axe, and made to leave. Babette stepped in front of him, halting his progress. He looked down, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

"I have to ask… What do they call you?"

The orc snorted, shook his head, and pushed past the tiny vampire. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder

"Baerd. Baerd the Wild is what they call me."

* * *

A/N: Aaaand that it's for now. Let me know how you liked it, and whether or not you'd be interested in seeing more of our bearded Orc. Hope you you enjoyed, reviews are welcome!

Just some clarification as several people have asked where I intend to go with this story: This is a one shot, but I do intend to write more about Baerd's adventures more in the future. Babette and the Dark Brotherhood may be involved, but are more likely to be on the business end of Baerd's axe then his compatriots.


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